Temporary Endings
by coolbyrne
Summary: We know SVU's bringing in a temporary partner for Stabler in order to give Mariska Hargitay the time off. The new partner is played by Connie Nielsen. What if she was English and played by Mandana Jones?


Title: Temporary Endings  
Author: coolbyrne  
Rating: PG+  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.  
Pairing: None  
Feedback: Compliments and/or constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of these things to: fearthejar at hotmail dot com

A/N: With the news of Olivia Benson being absent for a portion of next season, I thought of a way they could have handled it. Or maybe I was just trying to dream up a way to get Mandana Jones (just Google the name) back on TV. Either/Or. Connie Nielsen is coming on for six eps and I thought it would be cool to try and do six fics with a character of my own creation… then I realized six fics is just not happening for me! Maybe four. This first one will be more of an introduction to the character and hopefully, the ones to follow will have more case-file to them. It's a slow and often awkward start, but I hope you enjoy it.

--

After getting directions from a bleary-eyed desk clerk who could have used another hour of sleep, DCI Rachel Blythe walked down the vacant hall towards the squad room. At this hour of the morning, the room was nearly deserted, with the exception of a handful of early risers who took the time to give her a double look. Whether it was because of her height or the unfamiliarity of her face, she wasn't sure; at five foot nine in bare feet, she'd grown accustomed to the attention her height gave her, though she also knew it was their job as cops to notice everything.

A quick glance around led her to a partially open door, and with a soft rap prefacing her greeting, she called out, "Captain Cragen?"

"Come in," a male voice replied from the other side.

She snuck a look inside before stepping in. Seeing his questioning gaze, she strode to the desk and held out a hand. "DCI Rachel Blythe."

His eyebrows rose as he stood. Returning the gesture, he welcomed, "Detective. Good to meet you."

"I like 'Detective'," Blythe remarked. "Sounds so much more impressive than 'DCI'."

He smiled and pointed to the chair. "Please, sit." After doing the same, he said, "You're here awfully early."

"First day on the job; set a good example and all that."

"Does this mean you'll be late every day from now on?"

She laughed. "I'll try not to, no. Besides, I like coming in early when it's quiet. Lets my mind gradually get used to the insanity."

"I hear you," he nodded. Lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, he asked, "So, do you think you'll be able to handle the insanity on this side of the ocean?"

"I studied for over a year. I bloody well hope so!" she exclaimed, tempering her comment with a grin.

"I read your file. You finished in the top two percentile."

Deflecting the compliment, she shrugged. "That might mean something if there had been more than six people in my class."

He shook his head in amusement. He knew this exchange program between the London police force and the NYPD had attracted hundreds of applicants for only a handful of positions. The testing had been rigorous and competitive; he only had to look at his own detective, and Blythe's counterpart, Olivia Benson to know how hard it was, as she had struggled to balance her work and the program. "I'm sure there was a little more to it than that," he replied. "Anyway, if there's anything I can help you with during your three month stay with us, don't hesitate to ask. We're here to learn from each other."

"Cheers," she thanked. "For now, I only need to know three things - where my desk is, where the loo is, and where the coffee maker is...not necessarily in that order."

He stood up again and came around the desk. "Now that, I can help you with. Come on," he said as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her by. "I'll give you the five cent tour."

--

Beyond the three locations she requested, Cragen took her to the file room, the evidence room on the first floor, and the interrogation rooms. It was the "crib" that elicited a reaction from her.

"Your officers sleep here. At the station?"

"Not as a rule, no," he explained, "but sometimes if the situation calls for it, it can be easier to stay the night instead of going home. I take it this is an anomaly for you?"

"I'll say. We're not clock-watchers, don't get me wrong, but I've never slept at work. Of course, I probably have a smaller work load."

"More cops or less crime?"

"I work north of London," she clarified, "so I don't get the nutters. Coventry's only got about three hundred thousand people. So yeah, less crime. And yeah, this is going to be a bit of an eye-opener."

"Well, we'll try and make it as smooth as possible. It wasn't an empty offer earlier - you have any questions, just ask. It's going to take you a while to get the feel of things and we're here to help you with that."

When they got back to the squad room, he said, "I'll leave you to it. Your partner should be here in," he flicked out his wrist to look at his watch, "another twenty minutes or so. No doubt he'll want to make the introductions himself, but I'll come out and make sure everyone knows the situation. Okay?"

"Sounds good," Blythe answered.

As the captain returned to his office, she sat down and turned the swivel chair a full rotation as she looked around the room that was gradually awakening. The chair slowly stopped and she was facing a pile of folders on her desk. With a feeling of anticipation, she took one from the top, flipped it open, and got to work.

--

A dark form stepped into her peripheral vision and she looked up. With warm blue eyes and a wide smile, the man in front of her held out a mug with the tell tale tag of a tea bag draped over the lip.

"You must be Rachel Blythe," he said.

She took the offering and smiled in return. "You must be Elliot Stabler."

"One and the same." He gave her the once over that seemed second nature to all cops. "I think I need to move overseas. Or talk to my boss about a raise."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, then she glanced down. "Ah, the suit. Thought I'd make a good first impression."

"As long as you don't wear jeans, we're pretty informal around here. Though you know," he waved at the suit, "that might brighten a few cops' day."

She laughed and knew immediately that she'd get on fine with this man. "Well, I hope they enjoy it while it lasts, 'cause it's the only good suit I've got!"

He laughed in return and held out his hand. "Welcome to SVU."

Standing up, she shook his hand. "Thanks."

"Damn, my partners are getting taller and taller," he quipped.

"And better lookin'," a voice said from the doorway.

"The wise ass is Detective Odafin Tutuola," Stabler told her.

The dark cop extended his hand. "Just call me 'Fin'."

"And his long-suffering partner is Detective John Munch. Gentlemen, this is the exchange for Olivia from England, Detective Rachel Blythe."

She smiled in greeting and Munch frowned. "Are you sure? You've got great teeth."

"Don't mind him," Fin interjected, "he's just jealous he doesn't have your looks." He took in her long limbs in that same cop look Stabler had given her only minutes earlier. She could almost see the description list in his head. Female, 5'10", dark brown shoulder length hair, dark brown eyes, 9 and a half stone. Just as she got to the end of the list, he must have done the same, because now he spoke again. "Hell, I'm jealous he doesn't have your looks." Turning to Stabler, he wondered aloud, "How come you get all the good looking ones an' I get stuck with him?"

Elliot patted Fin's cheek. "There's only room for one pretty face in a partnership, Fin. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, but I'd advise you to do the same."

Cragen came out of his office to find the four cops laughing. "Nice to see, even with Olivia gone, that some things never change," he deadpanned. "Three of my best officers standing around while there's work to be done. What kind of message are you sending to the new one?"

"Oi!" Blythe objected, "I was here an hour early!"

This bit of information made Elliot's head snap around. In a whisper that was purposely loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "An hour early? Don't do that again, okay? He'll expect it from all of us."

"All right, all right," Cragen said, getting things under control. "Listen up, everybody!" He waited until he had the attention of everyone in the room before continuing, "As most of you know, we've taken part in an exchange program with our counterparts in England. So, while Detective Benson tries to figure out which side of the road to drive on and where to get a hot dog, we've got Detective Rachel Blythe for three months. She prefers tea over coffee, crumpets over doughnuts, and football is played with a soccer ball." A ripple of laughter rolled through the office. "So let's all work together and see what we can learn from each other." His tone indicated his speech was over and after a few greetings from some, they all went back to work. Cragen turned to Blythe and snapped his fingers as if an idea had just occurred to him. "There's one more thing," he said as he walked back to his office. "Follow me."

"Don't worry," Fin called out after her. "We all had to go through the initiation."

"The burning goes away after a few days," Stabler assured.

She paused long enough at the door to give them an abrupt two-finger gesture.

"I don't think that was a peace sign," Munch ventured.

--

"Okay, let's see it," Stabler ordered when she stepped out of the office.

She dutifully opened her jacket and flashed her new partner. Munch loudly whistled the opening bars to a familiar western and with a smirk, she had to admit, "It is a bit High Noon-ish, innit? I feel like I should be wearing chaps and a cowboy hat."

Munch wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "That's an image to keep me warm at night."

"Excuse my so-called partner," Fin apologized. "He's got no class. Looks good on you," he complimented as he nodded towards the gun on her hip.

"Will it be for decoration only or have you shot one before?" Munch asked.

"Ah, there's nothing to it. Point and shoot. Like a camera, yeah?" She reveled in their collective attempt to not show their shock before she finally said, "You should see your faces. Yes, I've shot one. No, I haven't shot at someone, but I know my way round guns."

Fin narrowed his eyes. "But it's true you cops don't carry guns, right?"

"Right." She could see him trying to put his experiences into an English situation. "The Firearms Act of 1997 makes guns illegal in England."

"But you gotta have run into a perp with a gun."

"Four times," she revealed. "Four times in eight years on the force."

"Shit, man!" Fin exclaimed. He turned to an equally surprised Munch. "Can you imagine that?" Turning back to Blythe, he said, "Give us a minute to dream, okay?"

Stabler leaned back in his chair and asked, "So… this might sound stupid, but… without the threat of force, how do you make a perp stop?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. Well, I've got two choices, haven't I? I can either use the long legs God gave me to chase him down, or I can reach into the boot of my car and get my Winchester. Only handguns are illegal." Then, as if she had just given weather details, she sat down and returned her attention to the file on her desk.

Fin leaned towards his partner. "I can't tell if she's shittin' us or not."

--

"Well, beyond the cars being on the wrong side of the road, football not really being football and the continued and often awkward misuse of the word 'fag', this it's just like being in England," Blythe commented as she stretched her legs out in the car. An hour ago, Elliot had received a tip on a suspect he'd been trying to track down for several days, and he and his new partner had been sitting outside a row of brownstones ever since.

"You do stake-outs over there?" he asked.

"Of course," she answered, and as the rim of the cold cup of tea reached her lips, she thought better of it. Putting the disposable cup into a nearby holder, she continued, "Though I have to admit, most British criminals are polite enough to simply turn themselves in."

Stabler laughed. "I'm not any better than Fin at figuring out whether you're joking or not."

She smirked and looked towards the buildings. "So, what's the story on this one?"

"Trent McBride," Stabler began. "Suspect in a home invasion that went bad. Ended up in the death of a 7-year old girl who was in the house at the time."

She shook her head. "And what makes us suspect this one?"

"We found a partial print on a window frame and a cigarette butt in a smoke-free home. He's been in and out of the system for years, breaking and entering, theft, some minor assault charges. I've busted him twice myself and both times he was up to his eyeballs in smack. He's never killed anyone, but I think his M.O. fits this one. The print's not good enough to nail him outright, but it's good enough for me. And I figure if we can get him in an interrogation room, he'll crack. Might even get a DNA submission."

Nodding, she asked, "What are the chances that he'll see us and come willingly?"

He shrugged. "Hard to tell. He doesn't have a record of being overly aggressive, even when cranked up. More flight than fight. You never can tell with these guys, but I think it's safe to say we won't need to get your rifle out of the trunk."

"Boot," she corrected.

"So what do you call the hood?"

"That thing?" she pointed towards the front of the car. "The bonnet."

"What's this?" he asked as he touched the windshield.

"The windscreen."

"And this?"

"Steering wheel." They both laughed and she noted, "You look so disappointed!"

--

He had risked a quick jog around the corner and down the street for some fresh coffee, and when he made it back to the car, he slid into the driver's seat and asked, "What did I miss?"

She took the cup out of his hand and hummed appreciatively. "A mother yelling out a fifth floor window, two teenagers arguing on the step over there," she pointed with the same hand that brought the hot beverage to her lips, "and the world's biggest bloody rat scurrying across the road!"

Her expression made him cough up his coffee and he grabbed some napkins to wipe his tie. As he tried to clean up the mess, Blythe leaned back in her seat and positioned herself so she could look at her partner but keep the building in her peripheral view.

"So this is where we bond as partners," she smiled. "How did you end up in law enforcement?"

He shoved the wad of damp napkins into the empty ashtray and mirrored her pose. Tilting his head at the question, he gave voice to his uncertainty. "I dunno. I started out in the Marines. Becoming a cop seemed like the next logical step."

"Oh, you're into the discipline are you, Detective Stabler?"

He smirked at the jibe, but didn't bite. "We had Maureen when we were both young and I was still in the service. I figured I had to get something that put a bit more food on the table. We had our second shortly after, so it looks like it was a good decision!" Taking a sip of his coffee, he looked over the rim. "How 'bout you? Got kids?"

She pursed her lips. "No, no kids."

"So what's your story, partner?"

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," she quoted with a laugh. "No, I'm the youngest in a family of six, and the only girl."

"Ah."

"Yeah. My poor mum. She finally got a daughter and all I wanted to do was play footie– football," she clarified when his eyebrows rose, "and ride motorbike with my brothers."

"So how'd you get to be a cop?"

"Followed in my father's footsteps, of course," Blythe smiled. "Ironically, I was the only one to do so – my brothers went off and did all sorts of other things."

Stabler nodded his appreciation. "So your old man's a cop, huh?"

She smiled again. "Fifteen years. Then he moved on to the SAS."

His brow furrowed as he tried to place the acronym. "You mean like James Bond?"

This got a boisterous laugh in response. "Sorry, but we used to call him '007' all the time. He wasn't nearly as amused about it as his children were!"

A realization crept into Stabler's face. "So you weren't kidding about that whole rifle thing."

"Well, I don't carry one in the boot, if that's what you're asking," she answered with a chuckle. "However, I do know my way around guns and had I had a rifle in this vehicle, that rat would have seen his last day."

"I'll be sure to –"

Her hand landed on his arm. "That's him," she interrupted and jerked her chin in the direction of the building. Sure enough, nervously speed walking his way towards them was the gangly form of Trent McBride. With the building almost exactly halfway between the car and the suspect, the cops quickly plotted out their strategy.

"If he runs, it's a no-brainer; we run after him," Stabler directed. "If he runs into the building, I'll follow him and you take the back."

"No," she disagreed, "I don't know my arse from a hole in the ground 'round here. I'll follow him into the building; we've got a better chance of catching him if he runs out the back and you're there."

He nodded and opened the door. "Okay. Let's go."

As they got out of the car, McBride was nearly at the steps, and no matter how casual the partners tried to appear, their very demeanour screamed 'cop'. He hesitated at the bottom step, then bolted in the opposite direction.

Three pairs of feet pounded through the nearly deserted neighbourhood, and, though McBride's fear was an incredible motivator, the two cops were catching up quickly. Stabler glanced around and worked out the possible angles. Breaking off from the pursuit, he cut through the street on a diagonal to block the route. McBride never made it that far. Blocked by a car that had stopped at the quiet intersection, he turned to face Blythe.

Holding out a hand to show she wanted things to stay calm, she said, "Trent McBride?" When he stuttered his reply, she nodded. "We just want to have a word, yeah?"

He visibly swallowed and nodded in return. "Okay."

Stabler was ten feet away when he saw McBride approach Blythe, who then in a flash, reach out and grab her hair, yanking her to the ground. As he tried to bolt again, she, just as quickly, captured his ankle between her shins and twisted him to the ground. McBride's face was introduced ungraciously to a nearby fire hydrant and he crumpled into a heap.

"Here I come to the rescue," Stabler quipped as he jogged over to McBride and slipped the handcuffs on.

"His rescue, I hope you mean," Blythe muttered as she stood up. Her hand reached up and touched the tender area of her right cheek bone where it had hit the pavement. "Did you see that? Did you?" she demanded. "He pulled my bloody hair!" She looked down at the groaning body. "I've a right mind to kick you six ways to Sunday for that, you bloody wanker. That's bloody uncivilized is what that is." Looking up at the barely concealed chuckle from her new partner, she glowered, "Don't you dare laugh."

To cover his amusement, he took his phone from his jacket and speed-dialed a number. "Stabler," he said into the receiver. "Yeah, I need a bus at W106th and Amsterdam." Something caught the corner of his eye and he added, "And a CSI guy." Closing the phone, he informed her, "We've got an ambulance on the way."

"He's lucky he doesn't need a bloody hearse for what he did." As she wiped the dirt off her pants, she groaned. "Shitpissfuckbollocks!" She pointed to the tear to her knee. "My best bloody suit."

--

The scrape of the metal chair bounced off the concrete walls and Blythe grimaced almost apologetically. "It's a bit of a dump, innit?" she remarked as she looked around the small interrogation room. "Wouldn't see this back in England."

"Is that where you're from?" asked the gangly suspect in the opposite chair.

"Is it the accent that gives it away?" she asked facetiously before sitting down.

McBride snorted. "I don't care if you're from New York, or England, or fuckin' Mars, like I told the other guy, I'm not sayin' anythin' until my lawyer gets here." He crossed his arms defiantly. "And then I'm talkin' to him about suin' your ass for what you did to my face."

"Pretty fair trade for what you did to mine."

"You broke my fuckin' nose!"

"Sorry about that," Blythe apologized, without a drop of sincerity. Flipping open the file, she continued, "Besides, we don't need you to say anything; the evidence is doing a lot of talking."

"You've got nothin'."

"Oh, come on now. Have some faith, yeah? We've got a partial print and your DNA at the scene."

McBride's brow furrowed. "I didn't agree to a DNA test."

Wide-eyed and feigning innocence, she said, "You didn't have to, Mr. McBride. You see, in order to make sure everything I did that led up to your arrest was the correct procedure, we treated the place of your arrest as a mini crime scene, as it were." The expression on the suspect's face didn't change so she went on, "We took a DNA sample from the hydrant that met your face. And as procedure would have it, we got your blood sample from the hospital. It's all with your best interest in mind, of course. In case you want to sue." She flipped the folder shut and stood up. "I'll see what's taking your solicitor so long, yeah?"

Behind the double-sided window, Stabler glanced over at his captain. "This is gonna be an interesting three months. Yeah?"

--

"The guys thought we'd take you out for a drink," Stabler said to her as the clock rolled around to the end of the shift. "First day, first arrest…"

"… first black eye," Blythe added with a smile.

"It adds character," he laughed. "So, you up for it?"

"Sure," she agreed, "I'd love it. But it's got to be English beer and you've got to let me meet you there." Elliot tilted his head in confusion. "I've got an errand I've got to run first," she clarified. "Can you give me the address and I'll meet you there in an hour?"

As he scribbled the information on a piece of paper, he asked, "Are you sure you can find it on your own?"

"No worries. Your streets in New York are wonderfully simplistic – all numbers!" She took the paper out of his hand and glanced at it. "O'Reilly's. Well, it's not English, but it'll do." Slipping her jacket off the back of her chair, she made her way to the door. "An hour."

--

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the pub, it was the cat-call from the bar that got her attention.

"I knew that had to be you, John," she declared as she joined the three men. "Like a beacon in the night."

"Like a fart in a church, more like it," Fin commented. "Anyway, that was my partner's un-classy way of saying the haircut looks good on you."

Running her hand through the short crop in the back, she made a face. "It's awfully short. Not sure what I make of it, but at least no one's going to grab me by the hair again. Little bastard."

Stabler moved a seat over and offered the stool beside him. "Looks good, partner. What'll you have?"

"An Irish pub?" She looked at the bartender. "I'll have a Guinness, Jimmy."

Munch frowned. "How did you know his name's 'Jimmy'?"

Blythe rolled her eyes. "Are you taking the piss? It's an Irish pub, innit? It had to be Jimmy or Mickey."

The four cops laughed and John raised his beer. "To first days and new friends."

"Cheers!" everyone agreed.

"So how was your first day, Rachel?" Fin asked, then gestured towards her black eye. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Yeah, it was all right. I was a bit nervous at first, but I'm glad to have had such a busy day, really. Got that dash of adrenaline and despite us being from different countries…"

Three women walked past the bar and the cops froze, then turned their heads as one.

"Three wonderful specimens of the opposite gender, my friends," Munch whispered in appreciation. "That's one for each of us, gentlemen."

In an equally hushed tone, Blythe said, "Then I hope you don't mind sitting this one out, John."

Three heads now turned in her direction and she laughed at the image and their expressions. Stabler was the first to find his voice.

"This is definitely gonna be an interesting three months!"

-end


End file.
